


Three Minutes to Go (Sam's Response)

by Evil_Knitter (Nichneven13)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Music, Sexy Times, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichneven13/pseuds/Evil_Knitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Sam’s response to Dean’s “attack” in my fic “Crazy Bitch (Tease)”, which you can find here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2672711</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Minutes to Go (Sam's Response)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - All characters and original plots belong to Eric Kripke and The CW. No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Originally posted to LiveJournal.

“All yours,” Dean said as he walked out of the bathroom, a billow of steam preceding him into the nautically themed motel room. “The water pressure here is outstanding.” 

“No problem,” Sam said into his mobile phone and then clicked it off, burying it deep in his jeans pocket. He smiled at his brother with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Did you leave me any hot water?”

“Who was that?” Dean asked, neatly avoiding the question of water temperature. Maybe he could keep Sam out of the shower long enough to let the hot water heater boil up some tepid water for his brother.

“Wrong number,” Sam said quickly, leaning down to plug in his portable iPod speakers… and to hide his lie. Dean had a Sam-centric Lie Detector installed and Sam still hadn’t figured out how to cheat it. “Mind if I listen to some music?”

“Are you going to force more chick music on me?” Dean groused, but without true repugnance. “I mean, seriously, dude.  _Lilith_ Fair? It’s right there in the name—it’s demonic.”

Sam chuckled, knowing that Dean actually sort of liked Tori Amos and Sarah Mac. It was one of those things they just didn’t talk about.

“Fine,” Dean huffed. “If you’re going to be a bitch about it, go ahead and listen to what you want. But if you summon a demon, I swear, I will kill you.”

Rolling his eyes, he docked his iPod and scrolled until he found the song he wanted. The song he needed to give Dean a taste of his own medicine. He straightened, keeping his back to Dean, his eyes going to the mirror in front of him. The scene was set. He watched Dean pull on a pair of faded jeans and start sorting the laundry. Wednesdays were always laundry days, come hell or high water, or you know,  _Hell_.

Sam pressed play and swayed his slim hips to the cadence of the song quietly filling the room. He kept his eyes trained on Dean by way of the mirror until a split second before Dean’s head came up at Paula Cole’s emphatically moaned  _whoa-ho_.

Dean froze as his eyes found Sam’s hips, which his little brother used to draw lazy horizontal figure 8s. Slide, pull, curl, repeat. Slide, pull, curl, repeat until Dean had to swallow against the dryness in his mouth and a new movement caught his eye: Sam slowly unbuttoning his blue and white plaid shirt. Dean’s fingers released the dirty tee shirt he was holding and his hand levitated in mid-air, as if trapped by a magician’s handiwork.

Sam wanted to grin, but let his lips fall apart instead, letting a sharp exhale escape. It was the exact sound he made every time Dean dropped to his knees in front of him. And Dean damn well recognized it.

_You make me feel like a sticky pistil leaning into her stamen_

Sam ran the long fingers of one hand down his neck and around his nape, lightly massaging Dean’s favorite biting ground. He knew the last brand Dean left on his skin was still there, winking out from beneath his long hair. He tilted his head feeling his hair drag across his fingers, revealing the mark to his brother’s watchful gaze.

_You make me feel like Mr. Sunshine himself_  
You make me feel like splendor in the grass where we're rolling   
Damn skippy baby

Sam chanced a look in the mirror at the brother he’d always idolized, at the lover he constantly worshipped. His own personal deity had shifted to gain better access to Sam’s striptease, the zipper of his jeans halfway done, as if something—some _one_ —had distracted him from dressing. Sam allowed himself a small smirk as he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, letting his shirt slide down his arms.  
  
 _You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs_

He tensed and released the lean muscles decorating his back, alternating between his upper and lower muscles, letting them undulate as he drew out the fall of cotton from his body. Down, pause, down, pause, to the driving drumbeat of the song.  
  
 _You make me feel love_  

Sam reached for his belt, gripping the leather and cinching it tight around his waist briefly before letting the metal tooth escape from its groove.

_You make me feel like a candy apple, all red and horny_

Behind him, he heard Dean’s breathing stutter and his bare feet shuffle across the sparse carpet of the motel room. Sam tugged on the belt buckle and slowly…  _slowly_ … pulled the belt through the loops of his jeans. He left a short length trapped in the last loop, his arm extended, his eyes downcast to watch the leather waver in the air.

_You make me feel like I want to be a dumb blonde in a centerfold, the girl next door_

Dean couldn’t take the torture. In two large steps, he crossed the room and came up behind Sam, yanking the belt away and tossing it unceremoniously to the floor.

The younger man leaned forward, bracing himself against the dresser beneath the mirror and swung his head to the side. His hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes, casting them in shadow. He planted the side of his jaw in the dip in front of his shoulder and peered at his brother with a look sinful enough to make Dean’s cheeks turn crimson.

_And I would open the door and I'd be all wet_  
With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt   
That I'm wearing and you would open the door   
And tie me up to the bed

Dean stepped closer, his bare chest centimeters from Sam’s back, the heat electrifying and leaping between the two. Sam rolled his body back, shaping himself to Dean by degrees… shoulders, upper back, lower back, hips. As soon as he was flush against his brother, he snapped away, allowing no more than a nanosecond of contact.

“This song,” Dean said in a low voice, dangerously close to a whisper. “ _This_  song I like.”

_You make me feel love_

Dean touched Sam’s waist, collapsing his fingers in quick succession—index, middle, ring, pinky—digging in deep enough to sign his name in bruises across Sam’s golden skin.

“It reminds me of you,” Sam said over his shoulder, his lips a hairsbreadth away from the lips of his god.

_Lover, I don't know who I am  
_

“Skip the shower,” Dean said as he angled to watch Sam pop the button on his own pants.

_Am I Barry White?_

Click. Click. Click went the zipper in Sam’s hand.

_Am I hot inside?_

Bump. Bump. Bump went Sam’s hips, thrusting gently back into Dean.

_What would I place with your hot conscious?_

Sam felt his brother’s hand brush against stomach, destination clear as they snaked down, down, down.

_Oh baby babe babe babe_

Outside, Sam heard the crunch of gravel followed by the slam of two car doors. The timing could not have been more perfect. He deftly pulled away from Dean, putting distance between him and his temptation.

_I will be your death the moon light  
Take your time_

“Get back here,” Dean growled and reached for Sam again. “I’m not done with you.”

Sam sidled to the bathroom, jerking his head toward the door. “Answer the door, Dean.”

“What?”

Knock. Knock. Dean cut his eyes to his brother, his soul mate, who had stepped fully into the bathroom, holding the door, ready to close it. Dean zipped his pants and punched his arms into Sam’s discarded plaid shirt, which made his little brother gurgle with laughter. He checked the peephole and swore vigorously before opening the door.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean greeted with a sigh and a sharp look at Sam. “Hey  _Dad_. I didn’t know you guys were coming this way.”

“I just talked to Sam,” John said. “Told him we were three minutes out.”

“Oh really?” Dean deadpanned, turning his head to glare at the door hiding his pesky good for nothing pain in the ass cock tease of a little brother.

“That idjit didn’t tell you?” Bobby plopped onto the bed closest the door. “I thought you two were joined at the brain.”

“Jesus, Dean,” John screwed his face in distaste as he approached the damnable iPod. “What the hell kinda crap are you listening to?”

_You make me feel love_

Dean made a strangled sound and lunged for the iPod. Silence fell heavy in the room, but behind the bathroom door, Sam’s laughter said it all: Payback is a (crazy) bitch.

 

~~END~~


End file.
